Findinggray 11f2a

This book was given to Dragana Kraguljac on Instafreebie. www.instafreebie.com

FINDING GRAY THE COLLOWAY BROTHERS (.5): PREQUEL TO FORSAKING GRAY

K.L KREIG

Contents Copyright Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Preview of FORSAKING GRAY Also by K.L Kreig

Finding Gray Copyright Š 2016 by K. L. Kreig

Published by K. L. Kreig ePub: ISBN-978-1-943443-18-5 ISBN-10: 1943443181 mobi: ISBN-13: 978-1-943443-19-2 ISBN-10: 194344319X

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Art by Yocla Designs Editing by Heather Roberts

Published in the United States of America.

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CHAPTER 1

When I see him, I stop dead in my tracks. He is the epitome of sexy. The very definition. My skin turns hot and my heart starts this little pitter-patter rhythm that makes me angry. I dreamed about him and those smoldering eyes of his all night last night. Woke up soaked everywhere, my pulse pounding, my core throbbing.

I don’t want to want him, the arrogant son-of-bitch, but crap‌I kinda do.

My entire body is a turncoat right now, because while my mind may be confused, my body is not. She wants the penetrating eyes of this incredibly handsome man to run all over her, followed by his tongue, then maybe his hands. Definitely his hands.

But thinking about the tip he left last night infuriates me. He may be panty wetting good looking, what with that strong jaw rockin’ the scruffy look, but leaving a hundred-dollar tip on a fifty-dollar bill is nothing short of haughty.

Harnessing that irritation until it overrides my raging hormones, I steel myself, grabbing a menu covered in plastic from the pile and march over to his table.

“I don’t need your charity,” I shoot with venom as I throw it down in front of him. It skitters to the edge and tips over into his lap. He looks down at it, then back to me. The ends of his mouth kick upward before he picks it up and sets it back down gently. I try not to notice how thick and masculine his fingers look and how well they would fit inside…

“It’s a good thing I’m not a charitable person, then,” he replies casually. My body, that bitch, she preens as his eyes walk all over me: from scuffed black shoes and drab clothes all the way to my messy hair, which is falling out of the bun I’d put it in prior to my shift.

“Go out with me,” he states plainly. As if he liked what he saw, even though I’m sure I have mascara smudged underneath my eyes. As if he didn’t ask me out five times last night and forgot what the word no meant. As if the different worlds we come from don’t matter at all. But they do. Unfortunately even that doesn’t stop my body from prickling.

“Are you really that conceited or are you just stupid? I thought MIT was a college for smart people?” I throw that little factoid from last night back in his face. His very attractive face.

He chuckles, amused. “I’m that confident.”

My mouth falls open. Why the hell do I like that so much? I should hate this arrogant asshole. For some

reason though, he fascinates me instead. But he’s so far out of my league; I could swing all day and miss every single time. Coming to my senses, I snap my mouth shut and lie, “I already told you I didn’t want to go out with you.”

Again with the grin. “I don’t give up that easily, Livvy.”

I feel my face flame hot. Holy balls, that nickname dropped straight inside my panties and caressed me deliberately from front to back.

“My name is Livia. Not Livvy.” You sounded breathy, didn’t you? Shit.

“Tomorrow night. Just one date.”

“I have to work tomorrow night.” Better. More power behind that one. Now next time, mean it.

“Then the night after that,” he counters smoothly, undeterred.

Sighing, I look over his shoulder to the cracked plastic of the booth he’s in. I have a feeling this guy won’t give up until he gets what he wants. And it’s obvious he wants me.

I want to say yes. I want to let him take me out to a fancy restaurant. Wine me. Dine me. Do more to me. But letting myself live in this fantasy where there’s any chance we could work is foolish and irresponsible. I’m working my ass off just to pay for a few classes at the local community college while he will probably graduate from a $50,000 a year university not owing a dime, no doubt his rich parents footing the bill.

Not to mention the responsibility I have caring for Alyse, my younger sister. I doubt Mr. MIT would know the first thing about the weighty obligations of being a standin parent because your mother abandoned you and the only one you have left gambles away the mortgage payment and grocery money.

No. No, we would never work, so just push that thought right out of your head, Livia. “Sorry. I have to work every night for the next six nights. Some of us need to make a living.”

Bravo. Now that had oomph behind it.

Before he can formulate another argument, I spin on my heels and head over to greet my next customer, willing away the sharp pang those words leave behind.

Wishing things could be different. But I’ll never fit into his world and he won’t fit into mine. I have to make sure Alyse graduates, gets into college. I have an entirely different focus than he does. And he’s better off with a Stepford wife who thinks shopping is an Olympic sport.

Only, in the same breath I think those things, I also wonder if they’re really true. The romantic side of me whispers: Maybe he’s more than you think, Livia. Maybe you should give him a chance? Unfortunately, the logical side of me yells: Leave it, Livia. He’s not worth it. He’s like every other guy. You wound his pride; he’ll lose interest and move on to the next willing victim with T&A. And, of course, my whispers of what could be are drowned out by the screams of can’t ever happen, so I move on, convinced I’ll never see this player again.

Only that’s not at all what happens.

CHAPTER 2

“That MIT hottie is back. Again,” Christa, a fellow waitress, whispers in my ear.

I know.

“Yeah?” I feign indifference. I keep busy rolling silverware in paper napkins, trying to suppress my grin, but god…I can’t. I try not to feel his eyes watching my every move, but it’s impossible. Impossible. The second that bell clanged, I knew it was him walking in. For the sixth night in a row. I knew because he’s come in at the exact same time, and always asks to be seated in my section. I know this because Holly, the hostess, told me that after night three.

“Fuck, he is smokin’ hot,” she tells me, sounding as dreamy as I feel.

I lift up one shoulder. “He’s okay.”

“Okay?” She screeches so loud you’d think I just spilled soda on her Gucci shoes. Her dad owns Rocky’s Pizza and she’s “finding herself” by waitressing two nights a week. If only we all had it that easy. “Jesus, girl, you need to get your hottie radar fixed. And fast,” she adds. “Because he’s looking at you like you’re the special of the night instead of the six cheese pizza.”

I glance over my shoulder and catch his eyes, watching. Assessing. Strategizing. They do look hungry as they crinkle at the edges when he smiles. A smile I’ve already come to know is a genuine one, not an I’m feeding you full of shit just to get lucky one.

After I get my fill of his cut jawline and full lips, I let my eyes wander over his broad shoulders, down sculpted arms that stretch the fabric of his pullover sweater. I imagine what all six plus feet of him looks like without a stitch of clothing. And it’s a good vision. A damn good one if I do say so myself.

Holy hell, I want him.

I want him and the flag of surrender is already half way up the pole.

He’s working so damn hard to get me out on just one date. One. I think any other guy would have just given up by now, but not him. And no woman would deny that the effort he’s putting into this is a head rush.

I like it.

I like him.

And that scares me more than anything, actually.

Everything in me screams if I succumb to his advances I’ll only get hurt. He’ll be leaving in just three short weeks to return to Cambridge. To return to the life he had before me. I’ll be the one left behind. A memory. A hard fought victory, maybe.

But if you’re not…

If you’re not, then what? Long distance relationships never work. Never. Only the naïve believe they will. And naïve isn’t something I’ve been since I was eight and my mother walked out on our family.

But that doesn’t stop me from returning that smile. It doesn’t quell the need building low in my core. And it doesn’t squash these feelings I have for a man I’ve gotten to know only through brief two-minute conversations over the course of a week.

He’s smart. Driven. Loyal. Tenacious. Has this confidence that borders on arrogance, but falls just short of it. He has another few months of college left before he graduates. He plans to take over his father’s consulting company one day, along with his two brothers, Asher and Connelly, who were in with him on the first night.

Which means he’ll be moving back to Detroit.

Which means maybe I could take a chance.

Just one date.

What can one date hurt?

I stand and scoop up a menu and start toward him, ignoring Christa when she tells me to get laid already. His grin gets wider and more hypnotic the closer I get.

Butterflies leap in my belly and I work hard to contain the excitement that’s building, threatening to burn me like a backdraft.

But all that effort goes up in a plume of smoke when I stop in front of him. I know as I set the menu down tonight, his patience has finally paid off.

He’s worn me down.

“Aren’t you getting sick of pizza yet?” I let a small smile play at the corners of my lips.

His face lights up. “To tell you the truth, I’m really starting to fucking hate it.”

I laugh. So does he. Seconds crawl. We hold each other’s gaze, neither of us wanting to look away. Sweet lord, I am in trouble.

“Then why do you keep coming back?”

“You.” The way he says it could be taken as cheesy, but it’s not. It’s said with sweet intensity and that cocky conviction he wears like a second skin. It’s honest and absolute.

It’s working.

I sigh, wondering if I’m really about to do this. No one has pursued me this way before. It’s intoxicating and scary at the same time. “What are you really after, Gray?”

“You.” Again with the sincerity. It floors me.

My head starts to shake, truly not understanding.

“You’re a good looking guy. You could have anyone you want. Why me?”

His brows wag. That grin turns smug. Wow, his teeth are really white. “You think I’m good looking?”

I want to keep this banter going. It’s been escalating each time he comes in and I’ve come to love the way he flirts, how at ease he is with himself and with me. But I need an answer, not deflection. I set my hand on my hip, cock it and wait.

He blows out a breath and leans back. He crosses his arms almost as if he’s incensed I asked. Then he pins me with this look I will remember for the rest of my life.

Pure, utter resolve.

I crumble right on the spot.

“Why not you, Livvy? I find you extremely attractive, but there’s something more about you, unique, different.

And I have this visceral need to figure it out. There’s white hot chemistry between us and I know you feel it too.”

Jesus, do I. “You’re going back to school soon.”

One corner of his mouth ticks down. “What are you

really afraid of, angel?”

Everything.

I can’t hold his penetrating stare for a second longer. I feel as if he sees straight through me, into part of me where the fear I’m not good enough hides. I drop my attention to the floor, then back up. “We’re very different, you and I.” He hesitates, as if he’s thoroughly thinking through how he’ll convince me to say yes. But all I want is the truth. “I’ve heard opposites attract.”

“I don’t sleep with a guy on the first date, so if that’s what you’re after then you might as well not come back.”

He grins. I melt. “Good. Neither do I.” An eyebrow lifts and I tease, “You don’t sleep with a guy on the first date, either? Good to know.”

Laughing, he says, “Guess I should choose my words more carefully next time, huh?”

I narrow my eyes, trying to vet out the lies, but I don’t see them. All I see are silent pleas to give him a chance.

That he’s different. Safe.

Give him a chance, Livia.

One chance. One date.

I take in a long breath, and when I blow it out, “Okay,” comes out along with it.

He straightens up, his eyes going wide. “Okay? Okay you’ll go on a date with me?”

His excitement makes that teenage giddiness I thought was lost at the age of fourteen roar back as if I’m at the Sadie Hawkins dance and Kenny Willis just asked me if he could hold my hand. I start to fidget with the worn corner of the plastic the menu is encased in.

“You’ve worked pretty hard for it so I guess I’ll throw you a bone.”

He grins ear to ear. It dazes me. Scrambles my brains

a little. Before I lose my nerve, I reach into my apron pocket and pull out my notepad, scribbling my phone number. I rip it off and hand it to him, hoping he doesn’t notice my hand shaking.

I make him work for it, though. He has to tug it from my clinging grip, but when it slips out, he sweeps those striking hazels back up to mine. They twinkle in triumph.

My knees feel a little soft.

“This real?” he asks, shaking it in the air.

I bark a laugh, drawing the attention of the neighboring patrons. I realize I’ve spent far too much time here already and I have two more tables that have been seated since Gray arrived. I find I don’t want to walk away from him yet. It’s the same feeling I had that first night and every night since, even though I’ve done my level best to be a standoffish bitch.

Yep…I’m in whopping trouble.

“Yes. It’s real. Well, ah, I guess I should get back to work.”

“Okay. I’m going to call you later.”

I nod and head to the neighboring table, but for the next hour I’m hyper aware of him. He watches me constantly, his eyes greedy. Full of possibilities I want to explore.

Later when I bring him the check, he asks me a question straight out, not shy in the least. The surety emanating from him is so damn sexy I know I’m not the only one falling prey to it. “So, ah…what date do you sleep with a guy on, then?”

I told him I didn’t sleep with men on the first date and that’s true. But it’s mostly because I don’t date. Period. At twenty, I should be sowing my oats, living life. I should be experienced in men, but I work fifty plus hours a week and take a couple classes in my down time, hoping to get

my teaching degree some time in the next ten years. And keeping tabs on my sixteen-year old sister, Alyse, is more than a full time job in and of itself.

But in Gray’s case I find that I might say fuck it and let him have his way with me the second I fold myself into his car. God knows if he took me in the back right now I wouldn’t stop him if he pulled my panties aside and thrust two fingers inside me. They would slide in so easily at this point. So damn easy. I would come long and hard, then beg him to fuck me against the dingy bathroom wall until we were both sweaty and spent.

And I think he knows it.

Only I also get this distinct feeling he’s willing to take this at my pace. Fast or slow. Whatever it is, he’ll keep up with me, urging, encouraging, but never pushing. “I’m in no rush,” he had told me on night four. “You’re worth the wait, Livvy.”

He thinks I’m worth the wait, but even as I toss saucily over my shoulder, “I guess you’ll know if you get there,” I have to admit to myself that I’m already in that terrifying place where I’m not waiting at all. I’m starting to envision not just one date with him, but ten. Twenty. A thousand.

Gray Colloway stole a piece of me the second our eyes first connected almost a week ago now. I fought letting him take for all of two seconds. Now that it’s his, I know I’ll never get back.

And I think he knows that, too. I daresay he’s even counting on it.

CHAPTER 3

“You sure you’re okay?” Graham asks for a third time, eyeing Gray who is sitting at the takeout counter waiting for me to close up. If the clenching of his jaw is any indication, I think Gray is starting to get peeved.

“I’m fine, Graham. Go. I’ll finish here.”

With one last glance thrown Gray’s way, Graham grumbles and walks to the front, me following behind.

“You have my number if you need anything.” He doesn’t even bother keeping his voice low or nonaccusatory.

“I do,” I reply on a sigh, just wanting him gone so I can spend some alone with Gray. A couple seconds of slight hesitation and then he nods. When he leaves, I rebolt the door and turn around, leaning against the

freezing glass. It’s bitterly cold outside tonight and a few flakes are starting to fall.

“What’s that asshole’s problem?” Gray grits through his teeth. Yep. He’s pissed.

“He’s just protective.” I try to soothe, removing my stained apron. “He usually walks me to my car since there’s a light out in the lot.”

“Mmm. He likes you.”

I start to smile, wadding up my dirty garment in one hand as I walk toward him. I like jealous. I like it a lot.

“We’ve worked together for two years. He just worries.”

When I stop in front of him, I drop the apron to the countertop. His hands find my hips and he draws me between his spread legs.

My heart starts to pound. The way he looks at me makes it hard to catch my breath sometimes. It’s been just one week since I said yes, a mere seven days, but we’ve hardly spent a second apart. Already he feels so much a part of my life I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone for the next few months.

“He likes you,” he repeats again, still irritable. “I don’t like it.”

“Well…” I put my hands on his shoulders and snake them up his neck, winding them through his hair. “Even if he does, it doesn’t matter. I like you.”

“Yeah?” He grins. It’s cute and boyish and I feel as though I’m already lost in Gray Colloway’s labyrinth. The exit is around here somewhere, I’m sure of it, but I’m not looking for it anytime soon.

He pulls me closer and I breathe deep. The scent of him and his spicy cologne is making me dizzy. And needy. So fucking needy. “Say it again,” he demands, going serious.

Racing. My heart is literally racing. God, it’s fast.

“I like you, Gray,” I breathe, telling him again.

His eyes go dark. One hand comes up and he fits it around my head, his strong thumb hooking under my jaw. He holds me steady. I need it when he announces, “I like you, too, Livia Kingsley. Christ, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Should I smile? I want to smile. Should I kiss him? I want to do that, too. Should I drop my clothes into a pile at my feet and beg him to take me? I’m thinking about it.

Seriously, thinking about it.

But he’s the one who makes the move, so I don’t have to decide. His eyes are trained on my lips the entire way down. His head dips slow. It’s agonizing, the wait. Then they’re there. On mine. And they’re soft, but firm. Gentle, but demanding. Warm and wet and so damn perfect, I’m positive he’s made for me.

His kiss is tender, but exacting, as if he’s trying to absorb every ridge and dip and exhale.

It’s the most intimate kiss I’ve ever had.

It’s a kiss that means you belong to me.

“Gray,” I let slip when he releases me. I want him to continue, but I need him to stop before I can’t. My god, I want him. But as much as I want him, I know I’m not ready to sleep with him yet. This guy means something to me. And jumping into bed within the first week of dating seems as though I would be trivializing what this is blossoming into. And I don’t want to do that.

But Gray is intuitive. Eerily so. His teeth find my jaw and he nips playfully, husking, “Want to play a game?”

Oh, I want to play a game, all right. Simon Says. Strip poker, maybe.

“What did you have in mind?” I whisper instead, gripping his strands tighter to keep my hands from wandering.

He nibbles his way to my ear, clamping down on my lobe until I gasp. “I like to call this game: This or That.”

I feel like mush. I can’t answer because he’s sucking on that sensitive spot right below my ear. The one that makes me tingle everywhere and want to strip down to my bra and panties.

“That…god,” I mutter, trying to catch a thought when I feel the bulge between us jump. “That sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it is.” He pulls back, then. His chest is heaving rapidly and those delectable lips of his, now turned up into a smirk, look fuller and so tempting. So damn tempting.

It’s testing my resolve.

Caging my desire, I ask, “How do you play?” I run a finger along his scruff, hoping beyond hope it’s a dirty game, but at the same time not, because a single dirty word may tip me a direction I’m not ready to tip yet.

“Really? Never played before?”

“Can’t say that I have. We didn’t play a lot of games growing up.”

“Well this one’s easy. Black or white?” He looks to what I’m wearing. A white top over black leggings.

“Hmm…both?”

“No, babe.” He chuckles. “Have to pick one.”

I pretend to pout. “Fine. White.”

“Gotta say, I thought you’d go black.” When he winks I let my hands fall from his hair to his shoulders. I’m treading on thin ice here, my need for him ratcheting my body up to the point it’s quickly cracking beneath my feet. “Your turn.” His ridiculously smirky grin tells me he’s very much aware of what he’s doing to me, too.

“So, I just ask a question?”

“Yep.”

“Any question?”

“Yes. Any question.”

“Okay.” I start with a benign one. “Football or basketball?”

“That’s easy. Football. My turn.” His voice drops an octave or two. That should have been my first clue this little game was about to take a quick left turn, but his thumb had somehow found its way underneath the hem of my blouse and was drawing this intricate pattern on my hipbone. It was spellbinding. It was stealing my breath, and my concentration. When I have to ask him to repeat the question his eyes gleam. Bastard.

“Hard or soft?”

Oh, fuck. It’s suddenly hotter in here than freshly laid blacktop. I pluck at my top to move some air before answering, “Well, that depends.”

“I told you that’s not how the game is played, angel,” he chastises playfully.

He’s making me squirm and he’s enjoying it. Well, two can play at that.

“It’s not a straightforward answer.” I let my own voice drop low and sultry. “If it’s, say, a mattress we’re talking about, then I like mine on the softer side. But if we’re referring to just about any body part on a man, for example, then the harder, the better.” I squeeze his bicep when I say this, but we both know I’m talking about an entirely different body part.

His smile drops. His hazels darken to the color of swamp water. And I hear the sound of victory rushing through my veins when I notice the rise and fall of his chest has increased significantly.

God almighty. This man.

I move to sit, needing some space before my knees find the floor and I start unbuckling his belt, but his grip

strengthens as he croaks, “Stay. I like you here, between my legs.”

I laugh. We both know that was as ripe with innuendo as my answer, so I throw him a curveball. “Really?

Because I think I’d like you between my legs, too.”

I play that scene out, unable to get it to stop. Gray kneeling before me. His fingers spreading me. His hot mouth latching onto my— He must have the same vivid image I do, because I hear him mutter, “Fuck the game” a second before his mouth crashes to mine.

Then we’re a flurry of pent up need. His hands are everywhere. On my face. Running down my neck. My arms. Pushing up my shirt. Cupping my breasts.

Thumbing my nipples. Working the cups of my bra down right before he’s sucking me, biting me and I’m crying out softly for more.

Eager to feel him, I run my hands over his strong shoulders. Along his sinewy lats, down his back. With each taut ass cheek in each palm, I squeeze as I run my tongue from his jaw to his ear. I start to pull his shirt from his jeans, needing to feel each ripple of muscle against my fingertips when he slips his hand underneath the band of the yoga pants I wore to work.

Instinct causes me to grip his wrist, stopping him. He releases my nipple with a pop and must see something in my eyes because he sets his cheek to mine, his hot breaths washing over me with every harsh exhale.

“Let me make you feel you good, angel. This is all about you. Just you.”

His fingers twitch at the top of my mound, coaxing, promising. Making me gush. A firestorm of passion is raging inside and I ache at the thought of not feeling his hands bring me to climax. God, how I ache.

“How wet did I make you?” His undertone is gruff, seductive. His fingers inch down another millimeter or two. My pussy is now pulsing, dying for his touch. His mouth. Anything.

My grip loosens as I softly confess, “Very.”

He wastes no time. He makes one pass through me and he groans, “Fuck, you’re right. Jesus Christ, that is sexy.”

Then he finds my opening, slick and hot, and tells me, “Hang on, Livvy,” before plunging two fingers inside.

He sets a fast pace, pulling out to circle my clit a few times before driving in again. He repeats and repeats until my back is arching, my head is falling, and I’m coming apart around him, chanting his name in benediction.

And I don’t think there could be a better description than that, because the experience that I just had with Gray, even though it was one simple orgasm, was definitely not simple at all.

It was holy and life changing.

CHAPTER 4

“Where are you headed looking so handsome?” my mother asks sweetly. I stop to kiss her cheek before snagging a green pepper slice from the cutting board.

Just as I take a bite, I almost choke at my little brother’s uninvited two cents.

“He’s probably banging that waitress from Rocky’s,” Asher lobs while grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Asher James,” Mom chastises at the same time my father clears his throat, throwing quick looks to both of us that means “cool it.”

“What?” A too-smug grin curls his lips. He ignores all the warning signs my parents are throwing and continues to poke instead. Leaning back, he crosses his legs at the ankles. “It’s true. Tell her, Gray.” He nods to me, as if I

would ever admit that to my mother, for fuck’s sake.

And I don’t like him talking about Livvy that way. She’s an incredible woman. Strong. Spirited. Sexy as hell.

Curves for days. Fun. Proud. Smart. Selfless. So fucking selfless. The childhood she practically gave up so her sister would have one is both heart wrenching and heart warming. But that’s just who she is. I don’t have to spend a year with her to know that. I knew it inside of twentyfour hours.

She’s in me. Rooted so far already it should have warning bells firing, but they’re stone silent. Livia Kingsley has come to mean more to me in the last two weeks than I thought possible. If I’m honest, I’m falling for her. Hard and fast and so deep I’ll never climb out. I wasn’t looking for a complication like Livvy, what with a few months of college still left; knowing I’m going right for my MBA afterward and will have to work my ass off at Dad’s company this summer. But I found her anyway and I’m holding on tight because I already know this woman is once-in-a-lifetime special.

And though I hope to remedy it some night soon, I’m not “banging” Livvy. Not yet. I want to. Holy shit, it’s practically all I think about.

But she’s not ready. I respect that. I respect her, and if she’s not ready, she’s not ready. And while that clock taunts us by ticking off the seconds we have left until I have to return to Cambridge, I’ll wait for her as long as she needs. I’ll wait a lifetime if I have to. My dick won’t be too happy, but I’ll just keep him busy in the shower day and night to thoughts of what she’ll look like with her lips wrapped around me, those doe eyes watching to see if she’s bringing me to my knees.

She would.

She has.

Not one stroke of her finger down my cock and already she owns me.

“Fuck off. Don’t talk about her like that.” I push him away from the fridge so I can grab a bottle of water. He stumbles and I chuckle.

“Boys, please. You know I don’t like that vulgar swearing.” Barb Colloway, my saint of a mother. How she had the patience and wherewithal to raise four boys, I’ll never know. But she did and if God put a better woman on this earth, I haven’t run across her yet…until Livvy.

“Then tell Ash to mind his own damn business.” My mother just sighs and goes back to cutting up raw vegetables, knowing she’s not going to win this one. I don’t even need to look at my dad to know I’m getting another warning glare. He’s as protective of his wife as I’m starting to feel about Livia. That’s how I know this is real.

Ash just shrugs. “We’re family. Your business is my business. Especially because I think you really like this girl.” I love my little brothers, but hot damn, they are a pain in the ass sometimes. Especially when it comes to women.

“We talking about the waitress again,” Conn chimes in as he strides into the room.

“Yes,” Ash answers at the same time I bark, “No.” “You seeing her again tonight?” Conn continues, picking up a few pieces of raw broccoli. He eases down onto a bar stool at the island, next to my father, and starts chomping into one, waiting.

“So what if I am?”

“Nothin’. Just asking is all. You like her, huh?” He’s nonchalant, as if my answer doesn’t matter, but everyone is hanging on it anyway. I’ve dated a few girls in high school and had a couple girlfriends at college, one semi-

serious, but I’ve never met anyone like Livia. Felt even a fraction of what I feel for her.

My gaze floats around my family. The people in this room mean more to me than anyone else…except now maybe my Livvy. I’d intended to see how things played out between us before I made this little announcement to them, but I want them to know. I want them to meet her.

Find out first hand how incredible she is.

“I do.”

My mom looks up from the radishes she’s halving.

She heard something in the gravity of my voice. So did I. “Is it serious?”

Is it serious? I’ve spent every night either with or talking to Livia since she agreed to go out on a date with me. Sometimes it’s not until midnight when she gets off, but I don’t care. Time is what I need with her right now, what we’re short on. What I crave when I’m parted from her. When I can’t be with her, she’s all I think about. I’m obsessed. Whipped. Whatever you want to call it. I know how I feel, but is it as serious for her as it is for me?

“I hope so.”

Fuck…I hope so.

Because I do believe I have met the love of my life, and I won’t stop until I posses every last part of her.

Especially her heart.

CHAPTER 5

I yank open the door to the fridge, ignoring how the handle is barely hanging on. I’ve tried screwing it in a dozen times already, but it keeps coming loose. I know enough to know that means it’s stripped and it’s also beyond my capability to repair. Maybe Gray could fix it?

But as soon as I think it, I shove that thought right out of my mind. I don’t want him to witness my problems first hand, let alone feel as if he has to fix shit that should be my father’s responsibility.

I like him. I like him so much. But I want his affection, not his sympathy. I’ve already opened up to him more than I have anyone else and it’s terrifying he’ll hate what he sees when all the covers are thrown back, exposing all the crap hidden beneath.

We’ve spent practically every night of the last three weeks together, except a handful. I miss him those days, more than I should. I met his parents last week. They’re incredible and I find myself envious for so many reasons.

His brothers are just as cocky as Gray. Just as handsome and fun and irresistible, too. And the bond that family has? They have no idea how lucky they are. How unattainable it is for so few.

When we aren’t hanging at his house, sometimes he’ll come into Rocky’s and just chat while I close out my shift.

Then he’ll follow me home, calling once I’m inside to make sure I made it to my bedroom safe and sound.

Then we spend hours talking on the phone until one of us falls asleep. Usually me.

He took me to a movie night before last, insisting on a real date. Remembering my answer in another rousing game of This or That, he bought me milk duds, knowing I prefer them over Mike and Ike’s. We shared a large popcorn and soda. We let our fingers brush when we reached into the bucket at the same time. Let them linger a few times, once twining our pinkies as we looked into each other’s eyes, then started giggling so loud we almost got kicked out.

And our make out sessions have been off-the-charts hot. The chemistry arching between us like electric bolts is almost too powerful for either of us to resist, but when I tell him to slow down, he’s been a perfect gentleman.

Just as I knew he would be.

He’s been patient, understanding. For me, sleeping with a guy means I have an emotional connection to him.

It means something more than just spreading my legs, making each other feel good. We haven’t talked about that specifically, but with Gray I wear everything on the corner of my sleeve. He reads it clearly. He knows what

taking this next step means to me and he’s been waiting for me to be ready.

Tonight I am. I’m ready to go all in. Hand over my heart, the rest of my soul, and pray I don’t get burned in the end. We’ve been together just a few short weeks and in reality that’s not nearly enough time to know someone, yet I knew the moment I set eyes on Gray Colloway that he was the one. The one every woman dreams of finding, yet not many do.

Her reason for being.

Her soul mate.

“What’s for dinner?” my father’s scratchy voice belts behind me, shattering my fantasy of a better life I never thought I’d have, but now want with desperation.

But once again the reality of what I live with day-today barrels down on me with the force of a Monster truck.

What’s for dinner? I stiffen; anger bubbling at what’s staring at me from the cool box. Three wiry shelves hold a nearly empty milk carton, a twelve pack of Busch Light, and a bottle of ketchup. I close it and pivot, fingers digging into the counter behind me for support.

“I thought you were going grocery shopping after work?”

“Don’t start on me, Livia,” he grumbles, dropping his tool belt in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I clamp my teeth together, biting back a cutting retort, though I’m not sure why I even bother. No spiked words could cut through flesh that’s hardened into concrete. I miss the father I used to know. The one who threw me up in the air, making me laugh until I was dizzy. Who taught me to ride a bike and catch butterflies and do three somersaults in a row. The one who used to care about what happened to his children. All that’s left is a husk of man who used to be great once upon a time.

“Dinner?” he repeats, flopping onto a wooden chair.

The back leg wobbles and my father adjusts his slight weight to balance it out until he’s satisfied he won’t end up ass first on the floor beneath him. I can smell the vodka wafting off him from ten feet away. Like a closet smoker tries to cover their habit with a giant douse of cologne, he thinks he hides those nips he takes with the mint he pops in his mouth before walking in. I now detest spearmint.

“Give me some money and I’ll go pick up a few things,” I coax, going for nice.

Blank stare.

Fucker. Fucker, fucker, fucker. Why is it you still love the person who brought you into this world even though they’ve given you every reason not to? It’s illogical. I wish I could hate my father’s guts for what he’s done, who he is, but all I feel for him right now is apathy. And maybe that’s worse. I don’t know. I really don’t know.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to fend for yourself, then.”

He frowns, trying a different tactic. “Don’t be like that, Libby girl. I had a bitch of a day. I’ll pay you back.

Promise. Money’s a bit tight this week.”

Same song. Different tune. Always off-key.

My father owns his own handyman company, although I’m not sure how. He has to barely be hanging on to it by his cracked, dirty fingernails. Any second I expect to be served a foreclosure notice from the bank. If it wasn’t for Alyse, I would have been long gone, but she’s only a sophomore in high school and I can’t leave her like…this.

“You told me you were going to ease up on the gambling, Dad.” At least he has the decency to look guilty. I never used to call him out like this. We swept it under the rug,

pretended business really “was” bad, but I got tired of letting him off the hook. I work my ass off, putting my future on hold to shoulder his responsibilities because he’s incapable. So now I make him squirm.

“I need you to cut me a break. I’m trying. It’s not as easy as you think.”

I think it is. Choose your family. Get help. Battle your demons. Try harder. But it’s all been said before, a thousand ways, a thousand times. Greed blinds logic.

This I’ve learned the hard way.

“Trust me, I am cutting you a break.”

I’m one step down the hallway when he uses that single piece of leverage he always uses against me.

Alyse.

She’s my weakness. I stay because of her. He knows it. He exploits it. I let him because what other choice do I have?

“What will Alyse eat?”

Fuck. Er. But it won’t work tonight because Alyse won’t be home. If he were any kind of father he would know that.

He would know she has a volleyball tournament starting tonight for the entire weekend. He’d be there, cheering her on. But he doesn’t and he won’t. I’ve come to expect no less.

“I’ll take care of it.” I hurl at him as I keep walking toward my bedroom, tacking on as I refrain from slamming my door, “I always do.”

CHAPTER 6

It’s two hours later. My father is gone, probably in some underground back room filled with cigarette smoke and a bunch of other low-lifes. I doubt I’ll see him the rest of the weekend. I’m still fuming. And I’m now running late.

Alyse will start playing in less than thirty minutes and with traffic it will take me at least forty-five to get there.

I have my purse slung over my shoulder and the doorknob in my hand when the doorbell rings, startling me for a second before my heart rate picks up. Anymore, it’s a crapshoot who will be on the other side.

An angry friend my father’s borrowed money from and not paid back? That happened last week.

A repo company come to take back his car because he hasn’t made payments for six months? That

happened last month.

A pissed off bookie with a baseball bat in his hands and retribution in his eyes? Yeah…that happened last year. I was scared shitless.

I’m deciding whether or not I can slink out the side door without being noticed while I wait down the street until they leave when knuckles rap, followed by a sexy, familiar voice.

“Livvy, you in there, angel?”

Gray.

Gray.

Shit. I breathe a sigh of relief before I’m immediately flooded with anxiousness. What is he doing here? I was supposed to meet him later, after the tournament tonight, at a neutral location.

There’s a reason I’ve kept Gray away from my house these past three weeks, insisting we go anywhere else but here. I never bring friends here. I’ve never had a boyfriend here.

I do my best with what we have, but it’s not much.

The carpet is matted and discolored. The furniture is worn to the stuffing. The walls are dingy, the paint chipping and yellowing. There’s no bottle of soda or froufrou snacks to offer guests while we gather around the fireplace and watch the newest blockbuster movie on our 60” TV. The little we do have is falling apart, but we have no money to fix anything because it all gets spent chasing a dream my father will never catch and then numbing his failures when he realizes it.

I have a split second to decide what to do.

Open the door or pretend I’m not here.

I wasn’t ready to expose this side of me yet, but I’m tired of faking it. I’m tired of hiding, running, putting myself dead last. This is me. This is where I’m from, who I

am. Like it or not. And if Gray looks down his nose at me for where I live and what little I have…well, then, I guess he isn’t the man I thought he was and it’s better to find out now before I’m hopelessly in love with him.

That ship sailed about a month ago, Livia.

Fuck.

It’s do or die time.

Please don’t let me down, Gray.

Mind made up, my entire body trembles as I slowly turn the handle and ease the door open. Unfortunately, what pops out of my mouth as I take in his handsome, impeccably dressed form covered in a charcoal pea coat isn’t a warm welcome, it’s a lashing laced with my ingrained protective bite instead.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

CHAPTER 7

Yeah, I knew this was the wrong move, but fuck it. What I’ve learned about Livia Kingsley over the past few weeks is that she keeps people at arms length for a reason.

She’s been let down by the ones who are supposed to love her the most. Because my family is fantastic, I can’t completely relate, but I do get it. I recognize a protective barrier when I see one.

I keep my eyes on her when I answer, “Hi. Sorry for the drop by,” I’m not. “but I couldn’t wait another three hours to see you.” Truth.

By the nervous tick I note in her jaw, I can tell she doesn’t want me here. I’ve never been invited in and I know why. She’s embarrassed. Warrendale isn’t exactly one the nicest or safest of areas in Detroit, but quite

frankly, those are harder and harder to find.

What I don’t think Livvy understands is I couldn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. Her car, her job, her clothes, her bank account balance, her less than stellar home life? None of it matters. Do I like that she lives here with a father that’s a drunk and a gambling addict? Hell no I don’t, but that’s beside the point. She does. While I can’t fathom what she’s been through in life, this, right here, has made her the woman she is today and how can I wish anything about her were different when I think she’s absolute fucking perfection?

She needs to know none of this superficial bullshit interests me. It’s her heart I’m after, that I’ll treasure. The rest of it is irrelevant.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she says flatly, now biting that damn bottom lip. It turns me on so fucking much when she does that.

I step into her, gripping her hip with one hand so she can’t move back. “And you should know I don’t give a shit about any of this.” I nod over her shoulder. The one she’s wedged against the jam of the door, doing her best to block the insides from me. “All I want is you, Livia Kingsley. Nothing but you matters to me.”

Then I don’t give her a chance to drop that protest hanging from the end of her tongue. I lean down and claim it. Dissolve it. I kiss her. I devour. Every move of my mouth on hers reassures her the only thing I’m after is currently winding her leg around mine. She can’t get close enough. Neither can I. Christ, I want everything from this woman. All of it.

My hands wander under her worn winter coat, up her slim sides until I’m cupping her perfectly weighted breasts in both palms. I thumb her nipples until they’re nice and hard. Until they strain against the material of her

bra and thin sweater. Then I pinch them until she moans into my mouth and shifts her hips into me.

She won’t be able to miss the fact I’m raging right now. I’m rock fucking hard. As my lips travel down the expanse of her throat, she rubs herself against the bulge in my pants. I’m knocking on orgasms door, ready to explode in my jeans.

“Gray, stop,” she pants. But then she grabs my shoulders and pulls me closer, so I don’t. I keep going until the name of her sister punctures this haziness we’re sunk in.

Shit. Alyse. The reason I’m here. I want every part of Livia’s life to be part of mine, too. So, though I wasn’t invited, I’m going to her sister’s volleyball games. I don’t intend to spend a second apart for the little time we have left unless Livia’s working.

“Sorry,” I croak, my forehead now plastered to hers.

Our eyes are shut. Our breaths rapid. I feel her body buzzing underneath the tips of my fingers. “Got carried away for a minute there.”

Man, that smile. That beautiful, mind-altering smile of hers. I feel it a second before I open my eyes and see it. I knew it was there because it radiates warmth that, handto-god, I feel every time.

“I think we both did,” she rasps, still breathing hard.

When she licks those lips, the ones pink and swollen from my kiss, I start throbbing all over again.

“I want you, Livvy. Fuck, I want you so much,” I blurt.

She is so gorgeous, so goddamn desirable it’s making me stupid.

She leans away, tipping her head back until her stunning green eyes pierce mine. She blinks a few times, those long lashes fanning the tops of her plump cheeks every time she does.

“I don’t mean to pressure you,” I start to say. “This is not—” When she lays a single finger against my lips, I quiet.

Before I know what I’m doing, I dart my tongue out and slide it up to the tip, drawing it into my mouth. Bright green darkens to liquid pools of seaweed before her lids fall half-mast. She swallows hard.

“You’re not pressuring me.” Her voice is husky and needy. It’s sexy as fuck. “I want this, but Alyse…”

Reaching up, I draw her finger back out, wetness sticking behind on my lips. Then I tuck her hand in mine so she can’t pull away. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

She eyes me for the longest time. Finally, one edge of her lip tugs up before the other follows. Then she’s fullon grinning and I am done for. I am completely and irrevocably in love with this woman and would do anything she asked. Bow before her. Hunt and kill her dinner. Worship her endlessly, forever. Even leave, if that’s what she wants.

“You want to sit for three hours watching a bunch of high school girls grunt and smack a ball around?”

“Why wouldn’t I? They’re wearing short shorts, right?”

I tease, my grin now matching hers.

I laugh when she whacks me on the chest, but it gives me chance to draw her in tight. “You know the only person my eyes will be on is you, right? I’m blind to anyone else but you, Livia Kingsley. Have been for the last twenty-five days. And I have a feeling I will be for the foreseeable future.”

She bites that lip. Again. She glances back over her shoulder into her house, then back up at me. I, however, never take my eyes from her.

“You and me. That’s all that matters, angel. You, me, and Alyse.”

Like a hose just turned on, her eyes fill with water and start to spill over. I cup her cheeks and wipe them away, one after the other, knowing this moment right here is defining.

“You, me, and Alyse?” she asks in a small voice.

She’s unsure and, once again, I get it. But I’ll never betray her. I’ll never leave or abandon her, even though miles will separate us for the next few months. I will always be by her side, as long as she’ll let me. I already know this is woman is my future. My forever.

“She’s important to you, so she’s important to me. The end.”

I slant my mouth and put it on hers, kissing her gently. It’s colder than a witch’s tit in January out here, but if she needs us to stay on her stoop until this—us—is all sorted out, I’ll stay here until my toes turn blue.

“You’re too good to be true,” she whispers between pecks, trying to convince herself I’ll be just like everyone else in her life. But I’m not.

Drawing away, I stare into her soul. She’s confused.

Scared to hope. Untrusting. Throwing up barriers to shield from the hurt others inflict. She’s having a hard time believing what we’re creating here is real and long lasting. But it is.

“Do you feel this? Between us?” I speak soft and sure because I intend to tear every single one of them down, then calk every crack inside her with peace. With love.

With belief in us.

Holding my gaze she nods.

“It burns, doesn’t it?”

She licks her lips and whispers, “So much.”

“But it’s the good kind of burn, angel. The kind of fire that gives life, not destroys it. You’ve lit something inside me that can never be extinguished. You get what I’m

telling you?”

“I’m not sure.” She does, but her answer is tentative, so I throw caution to the wind and hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass.

“Do you know what I do for the people I love?”

“Gray…” she mutters, her entire face softening. Bingo.

“I protect them, Livvy. Their hearts. Their happiness. I will never hurt those I love. I’ll make mistakes, sure, but I will never, ever hurt them intentionally because their happiness means more to me than my own.”

I want to substitute every “them” and “their” in that statement with “you” and “your”. I want to tell her flat out that I’m pretty damn sure I’m in love with her, but I want to do that buried between her snug walls when I’m sure those three words won’t send her skittering like a frightened rabbit, so before she thinks she owes me a response, I tug on her arm and close the door behind her. Then I settle her in my car and lace my fingers between hers when we get going down the road.

“Let’s go watch your sister kick butt.”

With a soft, almost wistful smile on her lips, she utters one simple word. But that one word is full of everything I need to hear. It seals this thing between us into something strong and shatterproof.

The sweet, sweet sound of surrender.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She is mine.

CHAPTER 8

Christ, I’m nervous.

As I push the key into the lock of the front door, my hand is shaking. Gray silently slips his arm around me and steadies it. Together we manage to line it up and twist the knob. The front door opens and a stuffy, pitchblack room greets us. It’s both irritating and a relief.

Sensing my pause, his hands land lightly on my shoulders, kneading. “I can leave if you want,” he says quietly, still behind me.

“No.” That’s the last thing I want.

I step inside and I don’t stop moving, putting one foot in front of the other as I navigate my way around the coffee table and the recliner, hoping that Gray stays on my heels instead of lingering behind. I pass through the

kitchen, down the hallway, past three doors until I come to my bedroom. When I cross over the threshold, Gray is right behind me. And when I hear the click of the latch, signaling he’s closed the door, I spin around telling my heart to slow down a few paces before it jumps from my chest.

Rays from a small bedside lamp illuminate his handsome face, revealing a lopsided grin. Intuitive hazels measure me carefully. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Why the hell am I acting like this is the first time I’ve been with a man?

“Is your dad home?”

Not what I was expecting, but okay. I shake my head.

If he were home, he’d be passed out on the couch by now. But by not being here that means no food will magically appear in our cupboards tomorrow, either. I push the thought away, not wanting to taint this night with thoughts of my irresponsible father.

Casually shrugging out of his coat, it lands with a soft thud when he tosses it to the floor. “Good. It would be awkward if he heard your screams of pleasure.”

Holy panty-wetting words. Nerves twist, contorting into fiery need.

When I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, he zeros in on it and I swear the hungry lines on his face sharpen. The throaty groan he makes sounds predatory.

A lion before the strike.

Then he starts toward me, never letting his gaze fall away from mine. He moves with grace and purpose and before I know it he’s in front of me. Warm, even breaths wash over my face when he gently palms my cheeks and tips my head back so he can stare directly into me and thieve the small pieces I’ve been holding back.

My eyelids grow heavy, losing the fight to stay open when his thumbs start to toy with the corners of my mouth, establishing ownership. He runs the pad across the fullest part, gently tugging down until my lips part for him. I want him to kiss me. Consume me. My entire body is nothing but a mass of ultra sensitive nerve endings right now. Every touch, every pang, magnified and intense.

I feel the brush of his lips on one side of my mouth first, then the other. Just a brush, a tease, then it’s gone.

My skin tingles, the tiny pricks shooting aching awareness straight to my neglected pussy. He’s kissed me before, of course, but tonight is different. Exciting.

Nerve wracking in the best way.

Sliding his hands down my neck, he slips them under my coat, over my shoulders, divesting me of the winter garment I’d not bothered to remove when we came inside.

“Tell me you want this, Livvy,” he gruffs. Demands, actually.

I force my eyes open, staring back into his.

The entire time he sat by my side tonight in bleachers stuffed with moms and dads cheering on their daughters, he was supportive. Attentive. And he really wanted to be there. It wasn’t lip service. When Alyse blocked a spike, he cheered. When she dug for the save, he was on his feet, clapping. When her team won game after game, he felt the victory as if she were already his sister, not just mine.

In one understated word, he was amazing.

Over the last few hours he’s managed to stomp on every single reservation I had, crushing them all to oblivion. So when Alyse asked to spend the night with a friend, I knew what inviting him back to my house meant.

I want nothing more than this.

“I do. I want this,” I murmur.

“Raise your arms.” As if my body is on autopilot, my unpainted nails are already pointing to the ceiling before he’s even done talking.

Wrapping his fingers around the hem of my shirt, he draws it up over my head. It feels as if it takes him an hour to do it and by the time I drop my arms back to my sides, I’m trembling.

“Holy shit.” I flinch when he runs a finger from the low-slung band of my jeans up my belly, between the valley of my breasts and over my right shoulder. He slips that finger under my bra strap and drags it down, drawing out goosebumps on the entire right side of my body.

I love that he didn’t go right for my breasts, even though my nipples are as hard as diamonds in anticipation of his touch. I love that he’s taking his time, admiring me before he ravages me. I love that he repeats the same process on the left, only this time he locks his stare back on mine as he does it, watching my reaction.

Now the only thing holding my bra is place is the fullness of my breasts as they press against the thin cups. But one flick of his fingers later, it’s floating to the floor, too.

“Take off your jeans.”

God, his voice is nothing but gravelly need. I knew he’d be this way in the bedroom. A dynamic, intoxicating combination of dominance and omnipotence. And I don’t hate it. Quite the opposite.

So once again I find myself eagerly following his command.

My shaky hands go to the button. I slide it through the loop. I separate the teeth of the zipper and hook my thumbs around the waistband to push them down. Taking

turns stepping on the bottom of either leg, I ease completely out of them and stand up tall, hoping he doesn’t mistake nerves for hesitancy.

For long heartbeats, we silently take each other in.

Without a doubt, this man is the man I know I will love like no other. And I see far more than plain lust for me in the depths of him. Far, far more. When my tongue darts out to moisten my dry lips, only then does his gaze break from mine, and only then does he let his attention finally inch downward.

I’m breathing hard, like I’ve just finished the hundredyard dash. What does he see? What does he think? I don’t own any fancy bras or panties. Most of them are mismatched and so old they’re starting to thin and hole.

But, on an unusual splurge earlier this week, the set I’m wearing tonight I picked up from the clearance bin at Victoria’s Secret. It’s white and lacy, but still not runway sexy.

Only apparently Gray thinks differently.

“Livia, god you are beautiful. So fucking sexy.” His praise is hoarse, edgy, like he’s holding on by the thinnest of threads. With his index finger, he traces a line right above my panty line, hipbone to hipbone. My belly quivers. My head spins. I feel weightless.

“Have to taste you,” he mumbles just seconds before he kneels, taking my panties to the floor with him in one easily orchestrated move. He taps the inside of my ankle, his command unspoken this time. I take a step to the right; my underwear now wrapped only around one foot.

Then he’s probing, his fingers slipping inside as his mouth finds my clit, hard and ready.

When he draws back I almost stomp my feet in frustration. But when he looks up at me from his bent position and says gruffly, “Fuck. I’m going to be here all

night long,” I go utterly liquid.

I sink my fingers into his hair and hold fast when dives back in and starts to eat me in earnest. And it doesn’t take long. I am wound so tight after weeks of anticipating this very second that I come embarrassingly fast. I’m still riding the drugging high of release when the backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sail backward.

Then Gray’s spreading me wide, tonguing me again.

I’m sensitive, squirming, but he doesn’t let up until he’s wrung two more hard and quick orgasms from me. Until I’m begging him to quench the ache and emptiness I feel deep inside with his cock instead of his fingers.

“The sound of you begging is such a fucking turn on, angel,” he utters against my swollen sex before he crawls from the bed. Standing, he smugly angles a brow up as he drops his hands to his belt and begins to undo it. “It will sound even sweeter when I’m sunk balls deep inside you.”

My tongue is in knots. Not because of what he said, because I’m very much looking forward to that, but because I’m struck dumb by the insanely mouthwatering physique he’s started to unwrap.

God. In. Heaven.

He is magnificent naked.

Mouth open, I watch him strip with intent. I watch him watch me as he rolls the condom on with efficiency. Then I watch him lose that cool composure he wielded a few seconds ago as he drapes his body over mine with a quiet reverence I didn’t know existed. He hovers, hesitating, so I reach between us to grasp his impressive, latex-covered cock, guiding him to my opening.

“I need you, Gray,” I tell him on a strained breath. I slant my pelvis to take him in, but he shifts back, balancing us both on pleasure’s doorstep.

Planting his hands on either side of my head, his stare bores into me. It’s intense. The air feels thick, the moment meaningful.

“This changes everything,” he promises on a whisper, edging inside a meager inch or two. My pussy contracts, trying to suck him in further. And when his eyes slam shut on a painful curse I’ve imagined hearing countless times over the past few weeks, I resort to begging again. I want him so damn much I can’t think.

“Please,” I plead, happily humbling myself. “I need it all.”

His eyes fly open and flare hot. “Sweet Jesus. Even better than I thought.”

God, I’m dying here.

“Gray.”

He holds himself still, now shaking with the effort to not just plunder and take. That I can bring this man to the very edge of unraveling is exhilarating.

“I’m claiming you, Livia. Once I sink inside this pussy slick with the three orgasms I gave you, you’re mine for good.”

He says this as if it’s law, as if it’s already a done deal.

As if it will scare me away if he demands more than he thinks I’m ready to give. As if the thought I’m not terrifies him.

Grabbing his ass with both hands, I cant my hips up as far as they’ll go at the same time I tug him toward me with all my might. The sensation of him stretching my inner walls is mind altering, and when I moan his name on a raspy rush of air, he can’t resist his primal instincts to thrust until he’s completely seated.

Our bodies adjust. Our breaths even. His eyes shine with pure adoration as he looks down at me. I smile, then. Really smile. But it’s not until I tell him with

conviction, “I’m ready,” that my smile is returned. And it’s real and resplendent and holds undeniable guarantees of a future together.

“This. Christ, angel. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

Neither have I. Gray rests his cheek on mine and starts to move. Propelling us toward unchartered bliss, declaring as he makes slow, passionate love to me, “You are mine now. Mine.”

My heart answers for me. It’s guided me from the very beginning of our relationship, knowing what my mind refused to accept. The words come easy now, tumbling out as I fall headfirst into release number four, “I always have been.”

Gray and I have something unique and rare. An unexplained connection I don’t quite understand, but won’t question. All I need to know is that I have been Gray Colloway’s since the day I came into this world, and every step I’ve taken in my life has been toward him. To this very moment. And there’s not a scenario or situation I can possibly fathom where my future wouldn’t include this incredible man.

Not one.

CHAPTER 9

T HREE YEARS LAT ER…

The second we step inside my apartment, I’m on her. I strip her coat. Rip her sweater over her head. Pinch the hooks to her lacy pink bra, which is sexy as hell, letting it fall down her arms. When it catches on a hand, I tear it off and fling it across the room. She’s laughing at my impatience until I kiss my way down her chest, latching onto a rosy nipple that’s pleading for my mouth, sucking so hard her fingernails sting my scalp.

“Fuck, you taste good, angel,” I praise, tonguing my way to her other one, giving it the same treatment.

Not thirty minutes ago she gave me the nirvana of all blowjobs in the employee lounge of Rocky’s, but I’m ready to fucking erupt again. The feel of her hands moving across me in desperation, taking my clothes with

them as they pass is a potent one I’ll never get used to.

Three years together and her touch still burns as powerful as it did the first time.

I look down to her left ring finger; the large emeraldcut diamond glittering in the overhead light and it hits me all over again.

She just agreed to marry me.

Livia Kingsley is going to be my wife.

My wife.

“I need to be inside you. Right. Fucking. Now.” I pop the button on her jeans at the same time she does mine and once again we stop to look at each other and laugh. Giddy. I’m fucking giddy. So is she. Then we’re rolling them down our legs at the speed of sound in a frantic attempt to quench this sharp ache we both feel.

In five seconds flat our clothes are scattered, her back is flush with the wall, and I’m buried balls deep inside her, groaning at the feel of her drenched pussy squeezing me so tight I’m not gonna last long.

“Tell me you love me, angel,” I rasp in her ear, pumping in and out, slow and steady. I’m holding back.

All I want to do is ram myself inside her until she’s begging for mercy, but I plan to fuck my new fiancée all night long so I need to go easy on her now.

Through her pants, she smiles against my cheek. “I love you, Gray.”

“Tell me again.” I ask her to tell me this all the time.

Inside a month I knew I loved her. When I took her to New York City for her birthday into our second month of dating, I spoke the words. But it took close to a year for her to say them back, even though I knew how she felt.

And ever since that day I can’t get enough of them.

“I love you,” my sweet girl readily replies.

I slide a hand between us and start feathering her clit.

The tiny nub is so goddamn hard, just waiting for me to send her over. I apply more pressure and pick up the pace. I want her coming all over my cock in the next sixty seconds. She clamps down around me, the deep pulses already starting.

“Oh, fuck, Livvy. I feel you. You’re so close already, angel.”

“Don’t stop,” she pants, nails now digging painfully into my shoulders. She’s just seconds away and it’s taking everything in me to hold the troops at bay until she’s screaming my name.

“Not stopping. Going to fuck you all night long. Now say it again.” I lean my forehead against the wall for balance and hook my free hand under her fine ass for leverage, tilting her forward so I can go deeper.

“I love you,” she breathes, then starts chanting, “I love you, I love you, I…oh, god, Gray, god…I’m coming.”

This is my favorite part of being inside Livia. It’s not when I release, although that feels fucking phenomenal.

It’s watching her. It’s watching what I do to her. How good I make her feel. How she lets go of every inhibition and gives me every single piece of her without reservation.

This, right here, is what heaven has to feel like.

I watch her face contort in pleasure. I watch until she’s able to hook that gaze with mine again, and only then do I let myself go. With our eyes locked and one final thrust so deep I hit the end of her womb, I let waves of ecstasy wash through me, filling her with my seed.

And that sets her off again, both of our bodies working in synch to milk me of everything I have.

It takes us a few minutes to catch our breath enough to move. I’m drained. So is she. My body feels as weak as a newborn, having given it all to her, but I sweep her off her feet anyway and head toward my bedroom. Our

bedroom. She cuddles into my chest and I sigh. I fucking sigh like a pussy but I don’t care.

I lay her down, clean her, crawl into bed with her, and drape her over me. She’s dead weight, barely moving.

Barely breathing. Life doesn’t get any better than this.

Except maybe when we have half a dozen miniature Livia’s running around. Christ, the thought of kids with her someday makes my heart pump in sheer joy.

“You okay down there?” I tease, chuckling lightly.

“I think you fucked me dead,” she mumbles into my chest.

“Well that’s a damn shame, angel. I have a lot more in me.”

“I need a minute. Or five. Maybe ten.”

“Whatever you need, baby.”

I’m so happy right now I feel like I could burst. Livia Kingsley just agreed to be my wife. And the sooner we set the date and she’s walking down that aisle toward me, the better. But we’ll discuss that tomorrow. Tonight is for celebrating. For making love until we’re sore and we pass out.

Slipping a finger under her chin, I tilt it up. My heart squeezes at the love I see shining back at me. It takes me a minute to find my voice, hoping beyond all hell it doesn’t crack when I finally use it.

“I am incredibly happy right now, you know.”

That smile of hers blows me away every time. “Me too.”

I test her name. The new name she’ll soon have for life. “Livia Colloway.” It tastes like ambrosia, making my head swim. “I like the sound of that.”

She lays her hand on my cheek. Her eyes liquefy. Or maybe it’s tears. “So do I.” “I have some champagne chilling.”

“Pretty confident, were you?” Her watery grin turns cocky.

I place an open-mouthed kiss to her palm. “I mean, who could resist this? I’m the entire package. Handsome, successful, sexy. Have a few bucks in the bank.”

“Oh really?” She pops up on one elbow and snatches her hand away. “You know you snore, right?”

“No more than you.” I roll her on her back.

“I don’t snore.”

She so does. “All women say that. It’s a cute snore.

Not a trucker snore.” Her wrists are bound together in one my hands, stretched above her head, while the other starts to wander south.

She laughs, sinking further into the pillow. “What’s a cute snore, exactly?”

“Mmm,” I breathe against her neck, lacing it with kisses before I finish, “The kind that makes me want to slip my cock inside that hot, talented mouth of yours to test first hand how the vibration feels.”

“Well, that’s…” She breaks off because I have three fingers now buried inside her sweet heat. “God, Gray.”

“Sore?”

“No. Please.”

“Please what, angel?” I taunt, knowing exactly what she wants. What turns her on, making her putty in my hands.

“Please everything. Just please.”

“You can have everything, angel. All of it. It’s yours already.”

And this is how the rest of our night goes. We talk.

We laugh. We fuck between bouts of tender lovemaking.

We drink champagne off each other until the sheets are soaked. We change them, catnap, then start all over again. We do this until we can’t do it any more. Until the

sun kisses the horizon. Then we crash, our bodies needing recovery.

My fiancée falls asleep in my arms. Exhausted, sated, deliriously happy. As am I. Only when I wake up a few hours later, the world I’d spent the last three years meticulously building implodes, blanketing me in wounds so deep I know I’ll never recover.

Livia isn’t in my bed. She isn’t answering her phone.

She’s not at her house or with friends or unconscious in a hospital somewhere.

She’s gone. Just up and vanished.

Without a trace. Without a note. Without a reason.

And so my living hell begins.

Want to know what happens when Gray and Livia reconnect years later? Keep reading for a peek into FORSAKING GRAY, The Colloway Brothers #1.

Available now where books are sold.

PREVIEW OF FORSAKING GRAY PROLOGUE ~ FIVE YEARS EARLIER…

“Do you, Peter, take this woman, Livia, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part?”

“I do,” he responds. Smugly.

“Do you, Livia, take this man, Peter, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold….”

Every little girl dreams of her wedding day. That magical moment when you pledge your undying love to the man who makes your heart beat a little faster, who makes your panties a little wetter and who you think will make the most handsome salt-and-pepper-haired ninety year old ever to walk the earth. Your father will walk you down the aisle, arm in arm, in a wedding dress so

beautiful, your childish vision couldn’t do it justice and he’ll struggle to hold back the tears of both happiness at giving you away and sadness that you’re no longer his little girl.

Every young woman dreams of the honeymoon that will quickly follow. Will he whisk me away to Paris, where we’ll live on wine and cheese and each other for two weeks solid? Or will we fly to a secluded island, sit on the beach, soak in the sun and drink pina coladas that our private butler delivers every hour on the hour? Or maybe we’ll decide to cruise the Mediterranean, visiting exotic stops such as Istanbul or Rome or Santorini. But at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter where you go, because you’ll be together.

And every girl, young or old, dreams of being married to a man who worships the ground she walks on, puts her on a pedestal and would give his life for hers without thought or hesitation.

I was every girl. Except, instead of the fancy wedding, complete with tears of joy, I’m standing in a courthouse in front of a justice of the peace with tears of heartbreak welling in my eyes. Instead of the elaborate gown, complete with a long, beaded train that I picked out with my sister and my best friends, I’m wearing a simple black sheath and matching pumps, which fit my somber mood perfectly. And instead of marrying the man who I love to the depths of my very soul, who will love and cherish me all the days of our lives, I’m marrying a monster…

“You may now kiss the bride.” …who will make the next one thousand two hundred and twelve days of my existence a living nightmare from which I cannot wake.

Chapter 1

I see him across the room. I’m utterly breathless.

My heart races.

My stomach flutters.

My soul disintegrates into a pile of scattered ashes once again.

I’m a complete fucking mess. No muscle will obey my command to move, even my eyelids. They refuse to take away his image for even a second.

Why is he here?

I shouldn’t be taking this risk. I shouldn’t be openly ogling him, but I can’t look away. Holy mother of perfection…he’s everything I remember and more. As breathtaking as the very first time I laid eyes on him. He’s every woman’s fantasy, probably men too. I see other women watching him and I want to scratch their eyes out.

Some blatantly stare, as I do. Some sneak sly glances so their spouses or dates won’t notice.

Foolish.

Of course their dates notice a textbook male specimen such as him in the room. All other men are busy pissing in a circle around their women to ward him away.

As if sensing my weighty stare, his eyes lock with mine. Neither of us move.

The woman dripping off his arm, hanging on his every word, seems oblivious to our connection. Every sound

fades away as we stare into each other’s eyes from across the ballroom. Eyes I’m all too familiar with but haven’t seen in what seems like a lifetime. Eyes that haunt me.

God, I miss him with a raw ache that intensifies daily.

“Wow, look at that fine piece of ass. He’s fuckable,” whispers one of my best friends, Kamryn, following my stare.

The best of my life.

He starts across the room in my direction, his date all but forgotten as he leaves her in his dust. She’s calling after him, but he simply waves his hand in dismissal, not bothering to look back. His angry eyes never leave mine, his full lips drawn in a tight thin line.

Oh shit. Time to go.

“Kam, I’m not really feeling well, sweetie. I’ll call you in the morning after my interview.” I’m frantic to escape. I turn to leave, heels clicking as I quickly walk toward the exit. Kamryn practically runs to keep up.

“Let me call my driver for you, hon.”

I call over my shoulder as I race toward my escape.

“No, no. It’s fine. There are plenty of cabs out front. I’ll just hop in one and be home in no time. Really, it’s fine.”

Her grip is like an iron fist around my arm as she maneuvers me back to face her. Kam frowned, clearly not believing the blatant lie I threw her way. Whatever. Over her shoulder I estimate he’s just fifty feet from where we now stand and moving at a clipped pace. As if by divine intervention, he’s stopped by a buxom blond whose nipples are ready to fall out of her slutty dress any second. One deep breath and pop, they’re free. He shakes her off, heading in my direction once again. Can’t blame her for trying.

Crap Livia. Get. Out. Now.

“I think I may be sick, Kam. I’d really like to get home before I lose those little shrimp thingies I just ate.” Not so much of a lie this time. My stomach is doing somersaults.

I turn and flee. I hear Kam call after me, but keep going this time. Making it to the safety of a cab before he reaches me is paramount.

Damn Kam and her insistence that I wear her fourinch Louboutin heels. So what if the fire engine red is a perfect complement to my also borrowed black leather strapless sheath. The shoes are still half a size too small and pinch my feet, making a hasty escape nearly impossible.

I should ditch the damn things like Cinderella. I bet she didn’t even ‘lose’ her glass slipper. She was no doubt trying to escape this supposed Prince Charming because he was an arrogant asshole, and it fell off in her urgency to get away. In traditional antifeminism fashion, a man weaved an elegant story about how much better a girl’s life would be with a boy in it. He would swoop in and save her from her persecuted life and they would live happily ever after.

Bullshit. All of it.

There is no happily ever after. Not for me anyway.

That childish fantasy was ruthlessly shattered over five years ago.

I make it out of the ballroom, down the stairs and have the front hotel door halfway open when a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder, effectively stopping my forward movement. An electric current runs through my body and I feel him everywhere. His hand may as well be between my legs for all my body cares.

Damn you Louboutin and your impractical shoes.

“Hello Livia,” a deep sensual voice drawls behind me.

His voice and touch combined almost make my knees

buckle. After all these years, he still has the same effect on all of my senses like the day we met. He sounds the same, albeit a bit more grown up. And a lot more sexy.

Jesus, I don’t think I can do this.

You can do this Livia.

You have to do this.

Be cold.

Be unaffected.

Lie. I take a deep breath, will the tears back, and steel myself before turning to face him.

“Hello Gray. Fancy seeing you here.” Holy…breathe, Livia, breathe. I am almost taken aback by how utterly gorgeous he is. He had been stunning across the room and he was always beautiful, but up close he’s like a golden angel sent directly from heaven—or hell—to tempt me. His face is no longer boyish, but all man, complete with the sexiest scruffy whiskers I have ever seen. This is more than a five o’clock shadow, but not quite a full beard. I’m a sucker for scruff. Especially on Gray, but he’s never worn it like this. It’s downright sinful.

Double damn.

“What are you doing here Livvy?” Livvy. I haven’t heard that name in over five years. It sounds so damn good I want to weep.

Dig deep, Livia…maintain the façade you’ve perfected so very well.

“I came for the same reason you probably did, the animals.” Bravo for me. I sounded very confident…and very stupid. My internal head is shaking at me sadly.

He says nothing, remaining stoically silent, his eyes searching mine for the truth.

Subject change, before he asks too many more questions, for which I’ll have to build lie on top of lie. I’ve

told so many lies I need a cheat sheet to keep track of them all. “So, why are you in Chicago?”

His penetrating gaze makes me even more nervous than I already am, and I start to squirm. I never intended to run into anyone I knew here, let alone him. I would have never let Kam talk me into this stupid fundraiser otherwise.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This is so not good.

“I took over my father’s company, and we moved the headquarters from Detroit to Chicago last year.”

He lives here? In Chicago? My mind is spinning. I’m trying to process the fact that my ex-fiancé lives in the same city as I do, and that he took over his father’s company already. I didn’t remember Frank being that old.

I shouldn’t be engaging him in conversation, but I can’t help but ask, “Did he retire?”

“No. He died.” I gasp and my heart sinks.

“God, I’m sorry Gray, I had no idea. Your dad was a wonderful man.” He was like a father to me, more so than my own, who’d essentially sold me to save his own life. I loved that family. They were like my own until they weren’t anymore.

“Of course not, Livvy. How could you possibly when you fucking disappeared over five years ago, without a trace, without a call, without a forwarding goddamn phone number?” His retort was ripe with barbs, and it stung in the way it was meant to. I deserved some of his ire yes, but not all of it.

Gray has no clue the living nightmare I’ve endured.

What I had done for my family or for him. And it would stay that way. I have to get away from him before I do something stupid, like spill my guts. He is my past, and as much as it deeply pains me, he has to stay that way.

Too much has happened in the last five years that I

simply can’t overcome. I am damaged goods now, and Gray would never want me if he knew the truth. I need to get the hell out of here before I break down. I can’t keep the tears back much longer.

“I have to go. It was nice to see you again, Gray.” I need to get out of here before I throw myself at him and beg for his forgiveness. Because even though I don’t quite deserve it, a small part of me desperately craves it.

Gray is my first love. The only man I will ever love. And that young, naive woman now buried deep inside me will hold tightly to the memory of her first love with her last dying breath. It’s all that has gotten me through the worst days of my life.

And it’s all I have left.

I spin to leave when a strong hand pulls me back once again. Every time this man puts his hands on me, I bend to his will, and right now I feel like a torch has been set to my bones and they are far too pliable. My eyes flit between it and his ever so handsome face. He gets the gist and lets go.

Although his voice has softened, his annoyance clearly rings loud when uttering his next words. “How can I get ahold of you, angel? I’d like to have dinner. Catch up.”

My heart skips a beat. I haven’t heard that endearment in so long, I have to blink back the tears threatening to fall. I want to agree. I nearly do. But then common sense slams back into my frontal lobe at a hundred miles per hour. If I spend time with Gray, he’ll pepper me with questions. Questions he has every right to have answered. But those are answers I won’t give. I can’t. He can never know.

Gone is the young, naïve, rosy-colored glasses woman he fell in love with. Gone is the carefree, idealistic

woman he’d asked to be his wife. What stands in her place, instead, is a cynical, horribly used and hopeless one. Shattered beyond all repair.

“I can’t,” I whisper. Then I do turn and flee. Luckily, there are several cabs waiting out front and I hop in the first one, yelling at him just to drive. As I turn around, I see Gray standing on the sidewalk, breathing hard, watching me drive away. Deja vu cuts me like a sharp knife and I begin to sob silently. These are the first tears I’ve allowed myself to shed in four and a half years.

Once again, I am leaving the only man to ever make my stomach flutter and my heart race. The man who pursued me relentlessly for that first date by returning for six straight nights to the pizzeria I worked at until I said yes. The man I’d dreamed of having children with.

Growing old with. The only man I have, and ever will love.

All because of him. Always because of him. As with every day for the past five years, I curse the day Peter Wilder set foot into my life. And I curse my father for bringing him there.

ALSO BY K.L KREIG The complete Colloway Brothers series: Forsaking Gray Undeniably Asher Luke’s Absolution Destination Connelly

The Regent Vampire Lords series: Surrendering Belonging Reawakening Evading

Standalone: Black Swan Affair

Finding Me, a new duet is coming!

Lost In Between: February 20, 2017 Found Underneath: May 2017

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